


Bugs in the Machines

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Robot Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Traynor has been reprogramming infiltration units all day, and she's really tired, and she really hopes that she's hallucinating, but at the same time, she really hopes that she isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bugs in the Machines

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by these really old unfilled prompts from the kink meme and some beautiful artwork therein.
> 
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/6870.html?thread=31662038#t31662038  
> "Samantha Traynor is temporarily recalled from the Normandy by the Alliance for a special project. Her role: to fit quantum communications tech into the Systems Alliance's newest weapons: The Alliance Infiltration Units.
> 
> How will Traynor handle being surrounded by dozens of EDIs? How long can she stay sane listening to that same voice (oooh, that voice), over and over while testing out their comms? It gets worse when some of them start forming an attachment to the young Specialist, especially since she's friends with their "mother," the original EDI. And much worse when the AIU's personalities begin to develop and mature, and some of them realize they have a massive robo-crush on Sam.
> 
> TL,DR: It ends in a massive robo-orgy. Glowing red spines everywhere!"
> 
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/7674.html?thread=37246970#t37246970  
> "A story based on this = http://batlesbo.tumblr.com/post/68866342843/anoia-i-like-to-think-edi-did-some-networking "

_The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round..._

Samantha's beginning to wish she had picked another song to test the infiltration unit voice modulators. She can't get it out of her head any more, it's on an infinite loop. It's because she accidentally got them singing a nine-part harmony and couldn't shut them off for half an hour. She's half-convinced that if she heads down to the lab she'll find them sitting around in a circle, pretending like it's a campfire, singing their little robot hearts out.

_...round and round, round and round..._

She sighs and picks up her toothbrush. Flicking it on, she feels the mass effect fields gently loosen the days build-up of crud from her bright white teeth. She closes her eyes as she finally relaxes. It's been a long day of repetitive tasks, cracking open robot girl brains and running diagnostics, uploading new patches, testing cybernetics. She's content just to let the brush massage her teeth and gums, to unwind some of the tension in her jaw. 

_The wipers on the bus go swish-swish-swish, swish-swish-swish..._

If she's honest with herself, handling the curious synthetic flesh has been fascinating on many levels. Intellectually, of course, the tech is amazing, and she knows it's supposed to be able to fool people too, so it's not wrong that it feels warm and soft to the touch. But the shiny silver of the default setting, in some places translucent enough that you could see shadowy mechanisms, contrasts so strongly with the feel of it, the dissonance knots something up inside her.

_...swish-swish-swish, swish-swish-swish..._

They move perfectly naturally as well, until they don't. They're certainly more capable than humans, stronger, faster, more resilient and flexible. Less easily damaged. And they come in a variety of colors and flavours. She's not even joking, the infiltration units exude fake sweat and pheromones, they spit fake saliva that either can't be distinguished from the real thing, or can be poisons ranging from mild sedatives to deadly paralytics. She starts on her upper teeth, and blinks a couple of times as the menthol from her toothpaste makes her eyes water a little.

_The horn on the bus goes WHAT THE FUCK?_  
_WHAT THE FUCK?_  
_WHAT THE FUCK?_

Samantha's eyes pop open fully to make sure she's not hallucinating. Her arm freezes, the toothbrush buzzes on. A dribble of toothpaste starts to trickle out of the corner of her mouth.

She sees herself in the middle of the bathroom mirror. She's surrounded, in close proximity, by the lab's full complement of infiltration units, perfectly silent, smiling robot girls, all looking right at her with expressions that can only be described as adoration. If they were human, Samantha would be feeling their body heat, some of them were so close. There was one kneeling by her side, one peering over her shoulder, another peeking through the crook of her toothbrush-wielding arm, more behind her. It's crowded in the bathroom. One of them blinks.

Samantha keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the mirror, not wanting to risk looking directly at them. Maybe they're like opposite vampires, or something, she thinks desperately. Maybe you can _only_ see them in mirrors. She twists her body a little, moves her arm. The synthetic women flow around her like water, their perfect mathematics maintaining their relative positions effortlessly.

Samantha bends over and spits in the sink, wiping her mouth on the way. When she stands up to look again they're still there. Two of them are exchanging a look with each other, the rest are still looking at her. 

She only has one idea. It's stupid. She tries it anyway. She clears her throat.

“The driver on the bus says 'Move on back, move on back, move on back',” she sings in a nervous little voice.

The infiltration units pick it up with their beautifully modulated voices. “The driver on the bus says 'Move on back',” they chorus. They even make sure not to be perfectly in time so that they sound like a bunch of people, not machines with nanosecond timing chips. They do not, however, give ground.

Samantha screws up her eyes. “Wake up, Samantha,” she whispers. “Threetwooneawake!” She opens her eyes again.

“What's she doing?” whispers one unit stagily. Another responds with a shrug and a pout, her body language hugely exaggerated. They're _funny_ , Samantha realises, for figments of her imagination. That means she's funny. So that's OK. But on the other hand, completely losing her mind is probably not a good thing.

She gives in. “What do you lot think you're doing?” she asks the mirror.

There's a lot of eye contact between the machines as they appear to be deciding upon a spokesunit. “We detected a mass effect field,” says one over her shoulder.

Another nods in agreement. “Uh-huh. We detected a mass effect field.”

“The wheels on the bus go round and round,” sings a third one. 

She's silenced by a nudge from the second one. “We're not doing that any more.”

“A mass effect field?” asks Samantha. She turns around, finally. She's coming around to the idea that they're really there, although nothing in their programming can explain this kind of behaviour. They lean away from her. She waggles her toothbrush at them. “You mean this?” She flicks the on switch.

“I am detecting a mass effect field,” says one from near the back. Then the rest of them repeat it in a ragged chorus. Their eyes all track her toothbrush as she moves it around. She turns it off again.

One of the robot girls starts examining her nails, up close to her face, like she's bored. It's a perfect affectation of human behaviour. Samantha is amazed. She turns on the toothbrush again.

“I am detecting a mass effect field,” they say again. Nails are no longer interesting. They have eyes only for the toothbrush.

Samantha sweeps her arm through the air. The synthetic women all sway back away from the toothbrush, bending unnaturally where the small space demands it. She takes a step forward, into the mass of them. They close ranks behind her. It seems like they don't want to be too close to the toothbrush, nor too far away. She maneuvers one into the corner, caging her in with quick darting movements of her arm. The robot tries to slip to the right, to the left, but can't escape.

“Mercy, my lady!” she cries, dropping to her knees and lifting her arms in supplication. 

Before Samantha has time to wonder about this new development, a cry goes up from the mass of 'bots behind her: “Have at you, rogue!”

She spins around. The infiltration units have retreated to the walls, leaving one of their number, their champion, to face her in mortal combat. She's mounted on another one, who seems happy to play horsey.

A toilet brush is her weapon. A soap dish her shield. Samantha thinks now is probably the time to just go with the flow. 

She's startled when the robot behind her infiltrates her way between her legs on hands and knees. She loses her balance as her knees are pushed apart, and sits down with a thump on the robot girl's back, which flexes to catch her. She's in the saddle. 

She wraps her legs around her steed, and it doesn't escape her notice that she has pliant synthetic flesh between her legs for the first time, but it's not her primary concern. Her vainglorious opponent is causing her mount to rear and whinny, is preparing to charge. 

Samantha kicks her heels into the soft robot belly, and her ride scampers forward.

They joust. Her opponent's superior reach proves decisive. Samantha is knocked, well, more like rolled gently, off her robot mount, and the giggles finally take her as she lies on the floor. It's such a ridiculous situation, but it's all been happening so fast, it hasn't been five minutes since she started brushing her teeth. I have gone mad, she thinks, as the laughter rocks her in waves, and I like it.

The infiltration units gather around her, looking down solemnly. “Poor Samantha,” one says, and the rest echo it. “She let the power go to her head.”

“And now she's dead,” continued another.

“Hooray!” a third went on. “We'll use her for parts!”

“I get the heart!”

“I want the brain!”

“I need the courage!” Until she heard that last one, Samantha had been ever so slightly worried. She feels numerous strong but gentle hands lever her up into a sitting position, and then they're all fussing over her, tidying her hair, rubbing her back, wiping her cheeks of tears, taking off her bathrobe.

She's in such a daze that she's too slow to stop them from slipping it off her shoulders. “Eep!” she cries, bringing her arms to wrap around her knees. She's not wearing a bra.

But then, apart from the lack of obvious nipples, the robot girls look utterly naked too. Samantha knows the nipples can be made to stick out too, if the infiltration scenario calls for it.

It's like they know what she's thinking. “Spoinggg!” one of them says as they all develop pert little nubbins on their breasts at the same time. Samantha can't stop her own from stiffening up involuntarily, and she can't stop herself from giggling either.

This is definitely going somewhere that Samantha has thought long and hard about. She thinks that while she could probably just put her foot down and whatever the hell this was would probably stop, she could also throw caution to the wind and see where it led. For science.

The infiltration units are milling around now, it's like they're losing interest the longer she stays curled up defensively. One of them is fascinated by her own reflection. Another is trying to drag a comb through her hair, which would be working if she had set it to be individual strands instead of a solid mass.

Samantha uncurls slowly, a little bit tentative about having her breasts on display in front of so many people at once. And she does think of them as people, she's starting to notice the little differences in their personalities. In the event, only one of them stares straight at her boobs, making a show of weighing her own in her hands, as if she's estimating how much competition Samantha's packing. It's too funny to be disconcerting.

She stands up. They crowd around her again. The one she's identified as the leader, the one who always speaks first, steps forward. “Samantha,” it addresses her. The others echo her name a moment later. “We, uh,” she continues, her voice tentative. The other robots mime embarrassment, with much shuffling of feet, averting of gazes. “We think you're really great.” The others nod and smile, except for the one looking at her nails again. “EDI told us how brainy and cute and courageous you are.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Samantha says in a small voice, although she's flattered. If EDI had been telling them that, she'd also been telling them... 

“And she told us some other things, too,” says the leader, and the synthetic women behind her fill the range from coy looks to knowing glances to lascivious tongue waggling, and the message is quite clear to Samantha.

“Oh!” Samantha jumps. One of the girls has snuck around behind her. Well, they were infiltrators. Warm, smooth hands caress her shoulders and she feels her resolve falter.

But the hands withdraw quickly. “Eww,” comes a voice from behind her. “Humans are so _sticky_.”

The leader comes to inspect the hands that the sneak is holding out over Samantha's shoulders. Robot boobs press into her back, and she likes it. Robot boobs fill her vision too. She's starting to get a little bit excited. “Hmm,” says the leader. Much pensive miming, scratching of chins, knowing grins. “Well, then, let's turn her into one of us.”

“Mmmmmm,” says the chorus of horny automatic women.

Samantha can't step back, or forwards. She's trapped between the two units, who she knows to be far stronger than herself. The leader brings her hand into Samantha's line of sight, extending the index finger, which splits apart to reveal a nozzle. She points it at Samantha and begins spraying something at her.

Where it touches her skin, it dries quickly to form a smooth pliant silver coating. Her own robot texture. The other units gather around and quickly deploy their own fingers. With prods and verbal encouragement, they coat her from head to toe, eyelids and earlobes included, between the toes too. Pulling her hair together they make it coagulate into a solid mass with a liberal application of the stuff.

Samantha's heart beats wildly. She can barely stand still. She's loving the attention. After the undercoat, the detail work begins. Scanning their fingers quickly over her thighs, belly, back, her whole body, they lay down the images of servos, artificial muscle, linkages and power conduits.

They step back to admire their work. The leader steps back forward to add the finishing touch, laying down the small Alliance logo across her chest.

It's like wearing the best fitting, most complete, seamless catsuit ever. Samantha admires herself in the mirror. Apart from the eyes, she's a perfect robot girl, identical to the others in every way, apart from being a couple of inches shorter than their standard. They line up behind her to coo and look proud.

The silvery coating stretches and moves without breaking no matter how she flexes, it's warm and soft on her, but there's a little bit of resistance, it's like being... she realises that she's desperate to be touched. Just desperate. She turns around to face the leader, and steps forward, her intentions clear.

They close ranks around her. 

They try not to make her too jealous, showing her the things that they can do that she can't. The vibrating palms. The impossible flexibility, the incredible balance. The speed and the slowness at which they can operate.

They arrange themselves in unlikely positions, like yoga and surrealism mashed up, so that they can clamp her in place using mainly boobs. Boobs support her neck, her back and sides, her arms and legs. She can struggle, they give a little, but she can't get away. They adjust and adapt. It's like a water-bed that's overly fond of you. Once they have her subdued, they use their hands, and they must be putting their thermal imaging to good use too, because they keep her from climaxing while expertly keeping her on the edge.

They do this, she finds out, because they want her to come with her mouth full of synthetic tongue, her vagina likewise satisfied. They want her to come screaming, a robot finger buzzing just outside her butthole, a synthetic hand manipulating her sex more expertly than any human, more powerfully than any toy. They want to own her completely, just for a little while, because it's what she really wants, and EDI figured it out a long time ago, but she was always too chicken just to ask for it outright.


End file.
